You're a Princess or You're Not
by siumins
Summary: Her cousin shoots her father and Yona's world shatters. She may not know much, but this is her kingdom to rule. Modern!AU ft. badly written gang warfare.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Haven't owned, don't own, probably won't ever own. Enjoy! **

* * *

There's dirt and blood in Yona's hair, and she tries to lift her hand to untangle it. Her clothes are a write-off as well—rips and tears that for once aren't by design—she tries to straighten out her limbs, rearrange her posture. Her body remains limp, like the arms and legs of the dolls she used to play with. Plastic face and nothing behind it.

The thing is, no one would have bothered taking out Yona if she hadn't watched her father die. The rule is that it's not murder if there's no witness. No witness, no evidence. Simple as that.

But Yona Was there. She saw her father shot by her cousin, Soo-won, and all she could do was stare in shock as he tilted the pistol at her, blood splattered across a pale cheek. Her hands trembling, eyes unblinking, heartbeat thudding under her chin.

It's ironic, really. She's spent her whole life toying with the wrong side of the law from the right side of the scale and never thought what it might be like to have the tables turned. Il had always been careful to not let Yona see the price of the riches she was showered in, only letting her take them for granted.

She's about to cry again—but it's as if she's out of tears, and all she has left are these graceless, hiccoughing yells. Then her voice is fading and her body runs cold, limbs numb as she curls in on herself. She and Hak are in a safehouse by the dock tonight, although it's more of a safeshack.

The rain whips against the thin metal roof, its drumming drowning out the crashing of the waves outside. Yona huddles on the dirt, body tired and mind blank, while Hak leans against the wall, posture tense and eyes alert despite his attempt at nonchalance.

"Why did you save me?" she manages to croak out. Her voice is flat, no inflection of a question or hint of curiosity left.

"Because I promised to stay with you." Hak responds.

She wants to scoff at the word promise, but promises are all she has left. She chooses to cling, and whispers _Promise _in her heart.

"Then, I promise to give you back your freedom one day." It's all she has to offer, now.

This is how she falls asleep, letting the rhythm of the rain wash her mind from grief to black.

* * *

A little context, perhaps:

Yona's father used to affectionately call her "Princess," and somehow, the title had stuck among his subordinates. Princess of the Yakuza, they would say; she had had it all. The wealth, the status, the comfort. She walked passed blood-splattered alleyways without flinching, so naïve the sight had never registered in her mind.

There were only two restrictions:

1\. She was to never pick up a weapon. While Yona was no stranger to the smell of gun powder, or the sound of a pulled trigger, she was forbidden from using a gun. Princesses did not dirty their hands with the work of others.

2\. She could not marry Soo-won. Elegant, charismatic Soo-won, whom everyone thought Il would name as his successor, whom Yona had harboured a long-standing childhood crush on, who became her father's killer and the head of Kouka in one fell blow.

Il had named no successor, simply the provision that Yona be cared for; he wanted her far from the life he had cut his blood and sweat on. Yona wants to laugh—or cry, she's not sure. If only he could see her now, on the run from the four of the five factions of the Kouka gang with only her bodyguard Hak.

Hak, who would have been the head of the Kaze faction if he hadn't decided to follow her.

* * *

Yona doesn't remember waking up. Her days and nights fade in and out of one another, her mind replaying a constant loop of the bullets slamming into her father then staring up at the still smoking gun. She struggles to think beyond, _Why why why_.

She remembers Hak confronting Soo-won, coming in to check up on her and finding someone he thought was his best friend with the cold eyes of a killer. The way Hak's arm had trembled as he aimed his gun at Soo-won, while Soo-won's steadily pointed at her.

Then, Soo-won's cold command of "Kill them" to the guards Yona had thought were loyal to her father, as if it was nothing to dispatch the two people who would have done anything for him. Hak fighting his way out and clutching her wrist as they ran through the streets of Kouka, the rain mixing with the tears on their faces, warm salt and cool drops. They had both lost more than Il, that day.

She fingers the cold tines of her hairpin—a lasting memento of what might have been. Purple blossoms on a gold pin, wonderfully impractical and deliriously delicate. One of the beads dropped off while they were running, and for whatever reason, it bothers Yona more than anything else. She wants even a final bit of perfection to remember.

It's a week of a constant cycle of memories. Of living like a shell of herself, just basic commands of eat and sleep and survive. She spends the days catatonic, staring at walls, and sleeps living nightmares again and again.

And when Yona finally thinks the world has stopped shaking itself apart around her, someone finds them and any sense of stability is shattered again.

* * *

They get ambushed when Hak is out of bullets. Because of course they do, no one ever said life played fair.

The only warning they get is an impassioned shout- "Red hair!" and then Hak is shoving her into a dumpster, never mind that there's coffee trickling down Yona's back and her cheek is smushed up against a half-eaten box of noodles, and pushing a knife into her hands.

"Stay hidden." He orders, and then he's off.

"Where's the Princess?" a voice asks, and Yona knows that voice. It's Kang Tae-jun, second son of the head of the Hi faction.

He had never really been a bad person, per se, just an immature boy with a strange fixation for her. Apparently, he had been convinced that they were destined to get married as a royal couple of the triads and rule the five factions together. Yona had thought he was annoying.

(what she wouldn't give to be taken back to those trivial days)

Still, Tae-jun meant the Hi faction had found them, and she's right as he beckons, and men approach from both ends of the alley to surround Hak.

There's a tense silence before Hak exchanges "Don't know. Sure you weren't hallucinating, Nobody?"

It's an old insult, from when Tae-jun had first approached Yona and she had had no clue who he was. And so had pretended he didn't exist.

Hak's tone is light, but Yona can see his clenched fist, the way his ankles are lifted just slightly off the ground—she knows he's calculating how to take everyone down. Hak's not called the Thunder Beast for nothing. Yet, she feels inexplicably guilty because she knows he could escape without her—hell, Hak could have been out of Kouka by now without her dragging him down—but here he is, fighting to protect her.

Tae-jun flushes in anger, then barks out a sharp command. Instantly, the men stand to attention. There is a shift of fabric, shine of metal—Yona sees switchblades, crow bars, metal pipes. She hears sirens in the distance though, which thankfully means no guns. On the other hand, Hak is now reduced to the two knives Yona knows he keeps in his shoes, and a bent metal pipe.

One of the men takes a step forward. Hak grabs his ankle and flings him into the nearest wall, stealing his crow bar in one fluid motion.

"Well?" He asks.

The rest of the men yell and charge.

Yona watches from the slit in the dumpster's door. At first, it looks like Hak might win. He's insanely strong, almost unstoppable. But it's Almost unstoppable, and there's 20 men there and although Hak swings and slams and some go down, more and more keep going after him and Hak is starting to bleed and there are less men falling now with more coming, always more. Tension coils tight in Yona's limbs and she grips the pocketknife Hak had given her.

Then Hak is stumbling, and she doesn't think twice before springing from her spot towards the nearest man.

It's desperate, it's futile, but here she is hiding in a garbage dumpster while Hak bleeds out in front her from god knows how many stab wounds. All she knows is she Can't let Hak die, he's all he has left and she promised to pay him back, she promised, and he promised to stay with her and they won't fail each other because of some stupid upstart from the Hi faction.

She lunges forward, hitting something, and oh god, the blood is warm and it's leaking out from around the knife, like a rotten fruit left out too long on a sunny day. The man goes down with a surprised grunt, though, and that's the opening she needs to dash out and shove Tae-Jun away from Hak.

He tries to grab her and tugs at her hair instead, pulling it out from the scalp. Her hair, red as dawn and forever in tangles. Her hair, which Soo-won had called beautiful. Her ridiculously long, impractical hair. She reaches out with the knife and hacks it off, whirling to face Tae-jun.

"Don't. Touch. Him." The words hiss out and for a second Yona forgets she's one girl armed with a pocket knife against a dozen men. It's just Protect Hak, and doing anything to achieve it.

Tae-jun gulps, and Yona thinks _Good_, but it doesn't change the fact that she's a girl with no training while Tae-jun is the son of the head of Hi and has probably been handling knives since he could walk despite how stupid he is with them.

It doesn't matter, she'll go down fighting whichever way she can. She wipes her hand on her pants and grasps the knife again, letting her eyes dart around the alleyway. There are exits here, ones she knows like the back of her hand, growing up on make-believe adventures and escapades. _Breathe, Yona. In, out. _

Her blood is pounding in her ears and her hair lies in tatters around her and her grip on the knife is probably wrong, but she'll be damned if she freezes up. _Never again,_ she had told herself when her father died, and she meant it.

Then, a hand claps on her shoulder. Startled, she spins and finds Hak standing, looking for all the world like he hasn't been fighting for his life.

"I thought I told you to stay hidden, Princess."

"Excuse me if it looked like you were going to die!"

"Please, Princess. Like they could take me." Hak smirks, but there's a pained grimace hidden behind it.

"Hak…" She says, hesitant. Almost reaches out to touch him. She stills when his hand brushes her own, gripping it for a second, then letting go.

"It's ok. Promise, remember?"

Yona nods. Tae-jun seems to be suffering from some sort of aneurysm: his brow is twitching and his mouth gaping.

"How are you even standing?!" He asks Hak.

"Just can't keep a guy down, can you, Nobody?" Hak jeers. Yona feels him take her hand again and squeeze it three times. An old code from when they used to run away from Joo-doh's lectures.

_Run in three seconds._

Yona counts down in her head: _3…2…1!_

She dashes down the alley while Hak flings a metal pipe at Tae-jun's face before turning and following her, knocking aside anyone who tries to stop them. Thankfully, Tae-jun is surprised enough that he doesn't recover until they're out of sight.

* * *

As they rest, exhausted and battered in an abandoned drugstore, Yona lets herself think.

She's a princess, or she isn't. There are no two ways about it. She can continue on the run, forever, always hiding, always wondering if she might wake up to bullets in her flesh and her cousin standing over her. Or she can fight.

She mourns, briefly, for what could have been. For hairpins that glittered under the sun instead of bullets in the smoking wake of a shot. For laughter with nothing hidden behind it. For the girl that died when her father did.

Then says—

"Teach me how to shoot a gun, Hak."

He's so startled he chokes on the water he's drinking and for a second Yona's afraid she's killed him. Imagine that, the invincible Thunder Beast felled by the very thought of delicate, fragile, Yona wanting to picking up a weapon. He coughs for a few seconds then hacks out a very faint "What?"

"You heard me."

"Your father wouldn't have wanted—"

"My father is dead, Hak, and I'm not about to end up the same way."

Hairpins and pinwheels and daffodils burnt up in angry orange. Yona may not know much, but she is the rightful heir of Kouka. This is her kingdom to rule, and she can't do that if she's dead

* * *

**A/N: Still alive, still writing~ might add more to this someday. **


	2. Interlude

_interlude: yona, in the eyes of others._

* * *

_spark_

Her hair flames out behind her, bright red against the pale white of her skin, and Tae-jun wants to both cry and cower at once. He stares, petrified, at her eyes, purple fire warning him to stay away. She might be just sixteen, untrained and crouched in an alleyway with only a pocketknife against a dozen armed men, but he doesn't think he's ever felt so frightened before.

This is another side of the girl, who at twelve, looked him dead in the eye and refused to marry him, refused to permanently unite the Hi faction. Told him, "No. What you think does not concern what I want. And this is not what I want, both for Kouka and myself."

This is another side of the girl he saw pouting at the Kaze head's son, the two of them teasing each other in easy camaraderie. The girl who brushed Taejun's advances off with simple ignorance, asking "Who are you, again?"

(Although Tae-jun does not know this, this is another side of the girl who less than a week ago, sobbed broken tears over her father's corpse.)

* * *

_light_

Yoon hated Yona when he saw her because he knew of her. He instinctively hated this pampered girl with alabaster skin—riddled with shallow cuts and eyebags, sure, but he couldn't see her ribs through her clothing, not the way he could with the kids in the slums. And that hairpin she was clutching, holding tight to her chest like a lifeline—how many families could that have fed?

He doesn't hate Yona now because he knows her. Knows how she's starved herself to feed and nurse others, knows how she will never back down if someone needs her, knows how she would bust a drug ring with only pocket knife if she thought someone was suffering and needed help.

Once, he brings it up with Yona.

"Sometimes, I hate her too," Yona tells him, and Yoon bites his tongue; there's a world of regret there he wouldn't ever be able to parse. Still, it's not right. How can you hate what you were never able to know?

* * *

_burn_

Over the generations, there have been many who have tried to befriend a White Dragon Mercenary. Operative word being tried.

Ki-ja thinks it's brilliant. He loves his job, and no one is the wiser—the client gets their target killed, then if Ki-ja is annoyed, he can kill his client. There are no contracts with the White Dragons, and Ki-ja is very, very good at his job.

Ki-ja is devoted to Yona when he first meets her. She earns his love.

* * *

_flame_

Like a flame. She comes into Shin-ah's life like fire, blazing into the darkness of the opium den.

Shin-ah doesn't smoke, but the darkness is comforting and makes it harder to find him; he can run from approaching customers if he needs, find those soft spots of darkness and disappear. Killing has always been too easy for him.

Fire can burn, he knows. But her hands are cool as they cup his, helping him stand and looking him head-on. She doesn't seem to care about all the ways Shin-ah could kill her in an instant, the soft parts of her skin left exposed. Her hands grip his firmly.

"Can I ask for your help?" she says, and for the first time it's a request. There's no threat, no bribe or grating slide of metal. She pulls him into the light and Shin-ah follows.

* * *

_blaze_

Jae-ha never wanted to follow the girl. Some might say it was fate that he kept running into her bodyguard, but Jae-ha likes to reject fate. Bad luck, though—that he'll believe.

So, a series of unlucky coincidences. The man—Hak, he says his name is—Hak, is strong and beautiful with an otherworldly sense of power. And Jae-ha is more than used to the unusual.

He's working with the pirates along the coasts when she shows up. It's the closest thing he's had to a home in a while, skirting the shore and sailing out just far enough that he can almost pretend to keep going, jump right towards the end of the world. He drifts and steals and gives and floats impossibly, incredibly light.

Then Yona (he doesn't know her name yet. he'll learn it again and again) shows up and it's a reminder of gravity, of being pulled back into orbit and he hates it but can't even say why.

She's not even his type, really. Too delicate (except for the calluses across her palms, the blisters and bruises on her fingertips), too restrained (she only offers and he can refuse, he does refuse, but why is he still following her?), too forward (he's never tried sailing across the sea).

He's scared of her yet enthralled all the same.

* * *

_embers_

Picture this. An alleyway. Lightning, pouring rain, puddles in gravel.

You know the funny thing about blood is that it feels a lot warmer than it should. Your skin is freezing cold, plastered with wet wind, and yet warmth is leaking out from under your hands. Which, ironically, is a sign you're dying.

Zeno hasn't thought about death in a while. But it's fascinating, watching one of Tae-jun's men frantically try to stem the inevitable. His hands are slick with trails of red mixed with dirt and rain, and Zeno gazes at his own hands. Pristine white, as always.

He wonders what it would be like to die.

He knows the pain, has felt it countless times before, but never known what comes after.

It's something to think about.

Nonetheless, he continues to watch as the man bleeds out, the rest of Tae-jun's gang running after the princess and her bodyguard. The princess: that was another perplexing conundrum. He thought her frail, at first; her feet turned inward as she clutched the knife, pupils darting side to side and betraying her fear. But Zeno recognized the fire in her eyes as she stood over her bodyguard.

He smiles, humming a little tune under his breath. Princess of fire, indeed.

* * *

_flint_

Some days, Hak thinks Yona is beautiful. Some days, he's convinced he's going to get himself killed.

Those are thoughts he only lets himself think at night. When his head is drooping to his chest and there's no constant press of adrenaline holding back his demons.

Thoughts like how he once called Soo-won a friend. How he would have trusted Yona to him with a smile, because that's the way it was supposed to be. The three of them, together.

* * *

_ash_

On overcast days, Soo-won likes to stay inside; he knows the rain will fall. But when the sky clears, he walks outside, letting his feet send ripples across fresh puddles; it's the best time to clear his thoughts.

This is how he runs into Yona—quite literally. He's turning the corner and a woman (red hair, he's only seen hair that bright once before) smacks into him. For a second, they stare at each other.

(passerby. strangers. estranged?)

Instinctively, he reaches for his gun, then sees she's already drawn her own on him. They pause again, a stalemate mirror of their last encounter, one confronting the other. Again, he can hear voices behind them; clearly, neither of them are alone.

He nods, and he can see her flinch before she does the same. Warily, she turns and runs. She doesn't look back.

(if only)

* * *

_inferno_

Lilli thinks the girl is beautiful. Enchanting. Enthralling.

She dances across the stage of the bar, twirling her fans in what seems more like a battle than a performance, like a knife should be held in her hands instead. It is reminiscent of the katas she sees Tetora go through each morning. The steps flow like water on silk, thrust to parry to sweeping turn.

The girl performs like a dancer, but Lilli thinks she is a fighter. She sees the way the girl's eyes narrow as she scans the crowd, watches her note the jugs Lilli knows contain Nadai and keeps track of the man watching out for the girl with something fierce in his eyes. The way his fingers tighten on his sleeves as the other men leer and reach for the girl. A bodyguard perhaps, but his stance suggests a loyalty running much deeper than a job.

So entranced she is by the girl's performance that Lilli stumbles when a server knocks his tray against her, bumping into a man hunched over at a nearby table. _Damn it, _she thinks. She was supposed to be incognito here; as daughter of the Mizu head, she is a prime target for kidnapping.

Quickly, she tries to disappear into the crowd, but the man lets out a snarl and snatches her wrist before she can. His eyes are unfocused (the product of Nadai, she thinks, and tries not to tremble) but his grip is iron strong. She tugs and twists, her panic rising and eyes desperate for an escape. Her fingers brush against the knife hidden in the inside pocket of her jacket, but she doesn't think she can reach it without the man noticing. The others at his table are turning too, annoyed at the disruption and happy to unleash some anger. The Mizu faction has not been a easy place, lately, and people are all too eager to release their frustrations whenever they can.

"I was enjoying that performance," the man growls, "And you're not half as pretty as dancer-girl."

Lilli wants to cry out for Ayura and Tetora, wants to be back home where it's safe, but she can't. It's just her alone in this bar, surrounded by men on drugs and looking to forget. She struggles again, futilely, as the man brings his arm back.

Everyone is facing her, so Lilli is the only one who sees it. Sees the girl come up behind the man and leap off the stage, twisting mid-air to nail him in the back of the skull with a flying kick.

Lilli is impressed, terrified and maybe a little bit in love with this girl. Mostly, though, she's in a state of _Holy crap did that just Happen?!_

The man stumbles and Lilli doesn't miss the chance to wrench her wrist from him, immediately fleeing towards the exit. She runs out into cold open air and pauses; with Ayura and Tetora away, she doesn't trust heading down alleyways alone. Lilli's reckless, headstrong and impudent, sure, but she's not stupid. Still, she can hear angry shouts behind her and figures she has another 10 seconds at most.

Then, the girl comes out from the door, red hair glowing like a beacon. Her bodyguard (?) follows, hissing "I can't believe you were such an Idiot."

The girl responds, "Please, Hak. My flying kick was beautiful. Inspired by Jae-ha and everything."

"That just makes it worse."

Lilli's not sure what to make of the pair, when the girl spots her and says, "There you are. Let's go, unless you want to die tonight."

They turn and head down the alleyway, pausing once to make sure Lilli is following.

She is; there are worse ways to spend the night.

* * *

_smoke_

The rumours precede her, eventually. Princess of the Dragons. Harbinger of death. They say she leaves a trail of blood as red as her hair.

He wonders if it is the same young girl he once helped two impossibly bright boys to find. If Won- Soo-won, his mind whispers- knows.

Ogi is an information broker, but there are some things even he would rather leave unknown.

* * *

_like lightning in dawn; burn bright, and strike without sound. _

* * *

**A/N: R&R! **


End file.
